


Maybe It's Best

by MeMyselfMoi



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Multi, Please don't read if this is a concern, Sexual assualt, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3156827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeMyselfMoi/pseuds/MeMyselfMoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please review, otherwise I get surly and don't update.<br/>No pressure, though.</p></blockquote>





	Maybe It's Best

It is getting dark.

I look out, over the street. Screaming drivers and blaring music and motion, so much motion, so many _people_.

It is sickening.

 

A shriek sounds out, somehow rising above the rest of the overtly loud population.

My ears perk up, eyes flashing towards the sound.

A young woman, curly brown hair cascading down her shoulders, is pointing to a tall, potted fern placed strategically in front of a building.

Or, as I suspect, the blank space right in front of it.

 

I force myself to relax, cast my gaze over the crowd, looking, searchi—

 

 

A flash of blue, making its way towards the street I am currently on.

 

A bitter twang pierces my heart.

I look away, watch the traffic coming and going along the streets. Pull my cap down further, hair falling into my eyes. I leave it be.

Glance over my shoulder, eyes drifting over the crowd, casual.

A blue head, barely visible, courses through the various people hustling on their way along the sidewalks.

I turn, and follow along behind it, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. We leave the bustle of the streets, me following at a safe distance behind Kuroko Tetsuya, Taiga’s _shadow_.

I feel my lip curl in disgust.

 

Time passes.

The sidewalks are less crowded now, the streets have fewer cars.

I look at my watch.

7:47 P.M.

We’ve been walking for about fifteen minutes.

 

Up ahead, I see an alley of sorts, brick buildings pausing in their monotonousness to make way for a small, paved road.

I speed up, till I am only three, maybe four feet behind him.

A few more steps.

My heart speeds up; I force myself to slow my breathing, careful.

 

A man and woman pass us, arms linked.

Their laughter rings in my ears.

It is annoying.

 

Breath in, out… in, out…

 

We are at the entrance to the alley, now. I glance around.

No one is near, except the couple from before. I watch as they turn a corner, the woman’s face ducked into his shoulder. He smiles down at her, and their faces disappear from my vision.

I face forward again.

 

Speed up, walk those final steps, grab his arm. Direct him into the alley. He tries to turn around; I push him against the brick of one of the buildings, forehead to the hard surface. Twist the arm in my grasp behind his back, grab the other one, force it back too.

His fingers link, tightening on themselves, palms pressing together.

But his breathing remains calm.

 

“My wallet is in my back pocket. On the right.”

 

He turns his face, just a bit. Trying to see my face, I’m sure.

 

I hold his wrists in one hand, reach up with the other.

Turn his face forward again, so his eyes see nothing but brick.

 

I move my hand from his head, slide it down until it is on his neck.

The skin is cool to the touch, and pale.

Nothing like Taiga’s.

 

I lean against him, so my chest is pressed against his back. With one knee, I gently part his legs.

His pulse picks up.

I can feel it, thrumming, fluttering under my fingertips.

So dainty, delicate.

 

 

I move my knee up, and rub it, just a small motion, between his legs.

He stiffens, tries forcing his legs back together.

I twist his wrists up, towards the middle of his back.

He lets out a soft grunt.

 

It takes him a moment, but he relaxes his legs. I nudge them open, wider. Giving me plenty of access.

He breathes in, deep, once. Holds it.

I tilt my face to the side, so I can see his face.

His eyes are closed, brows drawn together. Mouth pinched.

I smirk.

His mouth opens, and he releases his breath in a long, but quiet, sigh.

 

I turn my face away, stare at the back of his neck. Watch the light blue hair shift with each of my breaths, in, and out.

I shift forward, until my hips are flattened against his ass.

And my, oh my, is it a very nice one.

My thigh fits almost perfectly in between his legs, my knee just a couple inches above his own now. I roll my hips, thigh sliding against his crotch.

His head jerks back a bit. After a moment, he drops it forward again; forehead making a dull ‘thump’ when it meets the hard brick.

 

I remove my hand from his neck. Snake it around his torso, palm pushing up his clean white t-shirt. His abdomen is smooth, soft; and just as his neck was, cool to the touch.

He shivers, slightly.

I don’t blame him.

The late-winter air is cold, even to those with a jacket and cap, like me.

I’d more than likely be wearing gloves, under other circumstances.

 

My fingers graze against a nipple. Small, round; and already hardening from my light touch. My thumb circles the little nub, presses against it.

Teasing, never there for very long.

I flick it experimentally.

 

He jumps, just a bit.

 

Barely brush my palm over it, soothing the sharp pain from before.

He shifts, weight leaning from his right leg to his left.

I still my hand.

Drag it down, now, slip it between his legs.

 

He again tries to close them, to dislodge my hand and thigh. I force his arms up further, bending them unnaturally.

I hear his teeth grind together.

He wrestles his arms around, trying to break free. I tighten my hand, the one at his crotch. He stills, clearly understanding.

I can make this a lot more painful for him.

I release my grip on his balls. He breathes out, unsteady.

 

Were it anyone else, I would feel sympathy.

 

But not for him.

 

I cup him through his jeans, denim rough against my palm. He is hard, ready. His body is wanting, even if he himself is not. My fingers work his buttons, deftly. I have them undone in seconds.

I slip my fingers just inside the stiff material, finger pads brushing the soft cotton of his boxers. Slide my pointer finger, smoothly, over the head of his cock. Lightly apply pressure, rubbing. Just barely.

My thigh nudges against his own, on either side. He remains motionless. I give a huff of exasperation.

_Stupid boy_.

 

I withdraw my hand.

I feel him stand up straighter, obviously hoping I am done.

I am not.

I reach my fingers to my mouth, put them inside. Swirl my tongue around, getting them thoroughly wet. I remove them with a soft ‘pop’.

My hand slips back into his jeans, my now-dripping hand palming his length through the thin cotton of his boxers.

He shudders.

 

Again, I nudge his thighs.

Still, he doesn’t move.

 

I twist his arms further. He lets out a shaky breath; lets me widen his stance, spread his legs more.

I move my hand, now, grasping him firmly, rubbing. I drag my hand up, and down, up, down, tortuously slow, it seems.

 

Just as I hear his breathing regulate, I speed up, damp fabric brushing almost harshly against his sensitive cock.

He squirms, trying to escape my hold. I push him further against the brick.

 

He twists, curses, and there is something desperate in that one word.

I smile.

He is close.

 

I halt my hand.

Hold it perfectly still, except for my thumb.

My thumb stretches up, to his tip, and I circle it slowly, fabric slipping and sliding along with that one, rotating digit.

He moves, trying to shift his hips, trying to get away from the non-stop stimulation.

 

He keeps making these little noises, deep in his throat. I can’t decide if they sound pleading or angry.

 

I begin to move my palm again, too, barely rubbing at his length, as my thumb still forcefully circles, circles, slowly. The tip of my nail swipes across his wet slit.

His breath hitches, and I feel a shiver run through his body.

I keep going, repeating the same motions; circle, rub, swipe, circle, rub, swipe, …

 

I feel him stiffen, feel his weight rest forward against the hard wall, feel his cock twitch. Feel harsh shudders run through his body as he begins to come.

I give one final swipe over his seeping head, and step back, till I am a few feet away.

 

He falls forward onto his knees, hands releasing their tight grip on each other just in time to catch his upper body.

I can see him shaking.

I hear a soft moan, desperate, almost.

He is supporting his weight on his hands and knees, unable to touch himself, to pump himself through his orgasm.

 

I watch him for a few moments more, then turn and walk away, leaving him still coming, slowly, on the ground of an alley.

 

|~*~|

 

“Taiga?”

 

I yawn, wipe the sleep from my eyes, phone pressed to my ear.

 

“Yeah… Is Murasakibara around?” his voice asks from the other end.

 

I look up at the ceiling, study the plaster, cracking in the corners, and along the slow-circling fan.

Maybe I should find someplace else to live. I feel no need to die in a freak ceiling fan accident.

 

“Do you hear my voice, Taiga? With that slightly raspy, just-got-out-of-bed tone to it?”

 

A pause.

 

I huff a laugh into the receiver.

 

“No, he isn’t. What’s up? Didn’t think you two were on the friendliest of terms.”

 

It’s been a couple months since the Winter Cup. Taiga came after me, directly after our match, and we made up.

 

…Well.

Maybe not immediately, but fortunately the past weeks have helped to remedy that.

 

Unfortunately, all those feelings I thought I had managed to bury over the years have sprung to the surface once again.

 

“Ah, no, I’m not trying to talk to him… uh, not exactly. I need to reach Akashi, and figured he was the best way to go.”

 

“Huh. Well, yeah, he has Akashi's number, I'm sure. But what could you possibly need him for?”

 

My eyebrows raise.

I haven’t met the guy, thankfully, but have heard plenty of rumors.

 

Rumors that would definitely make me less-than-inclined to sit down and have a chat with the devil wannabe.

 

An aggravated sigh carries through the phone to me.

My heart twinges.

I don’t like that sound.

 

“Something’s… eh, heck, I don’t know. I just get the feeling something’s not… not right, with Kuroko.”

 

Another sigh.

 

I suppress a snort of derision.

Of course.

It would be his _shadow’s_ fault.

I feel a headache coming on.

 

“What can I do?”

 

“Uh—what?”

 

“What can I do? You want me to get Akashi’s number, you want me to pick you up some burgers, you want a shoulder to cry on, you want to get laid?”

 

My voice is teasing, light. But my heart is racing.

 

“What can I do?”

 

He is quiet.

And then, a soft chuckle.

 

“I missed you, Tatsuya.”

 

My heart thumps painfully.

 

“But yeah. Now that you mention it, some burgers would be great.”

 

I smile, look away from the ceiling, out the window.

It is sunny, bright light making shimmering dapples appear on the concrete sidewalk outside.

 

“I’ll be right over.”

 

 

 

 

“Oh, and, Tatsuya? Could you go ahead and pick up a vanilla shake, too?"

**Author's Note:**

> Please review, otherwise I get surly and don't update.  
> No pressure, though.


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